


Better Left Unsaid

by GMTH



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Time, Foreplay, Holiday Fic Exchange, Humor, Impotence, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Prompt Fic, Smutty Claus 2007, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-06
Updated: 2008-01-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 15:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GMTH/pseuds/GMTH
Summary: Harry's got a problem he doesn't want to talk about.





	Better Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2007 Smutty Claus exchange. For Arbor Vitae, who asked for Harry/Luna, hurt/comfort, first time, lots of foreplay, and something to do with snow. Many thanks to Amanuensis for the quick beta, to B. for the creative assistance, and to r_becca for putting the fest together.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry dragged his eyes from the blur of words on the page of front of him and focused on Hermione's pursed lips. He frowned. "I dunno," he said. "What am I doing?"

"You're reading." Hermione pointed at the book, giving Harry a look that made him feel as though she'd caught him defiling Crookshanks with a sharp stick. For a moment, he half expected her to cry, "J'accuse!" and rip it from his hands. 

"So?" 

"So," she said, planting one tightly curled fist on each hip. "It's a Friday night." 

Harry squirmed in his seat and darted his eyes away. "We've... uh... got to know this stuff by next week," he said, raising the book half-heartedly and looking to Ron for support. "Right, Ron?"

"Er... yeah," Ron said, nodding. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gave a hasty swallow. "We've got to be ready to --" 

"Oh, please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You hardly ever cracked a book on weekends when we were at Hogwarts, and you can't expect me to believe you're cracking one now for _work_." Harry opened his mouth to say something in his own defense, but Hermione barrelled on as though she hadn't noticed. "Besides, I've been watching and you haven't turned the page in nearly half an hour." 

Harry marked his page and set the book aside, stifling an irritated sigh. She was right; he hadn't been reading the thing anyway. He crossed his arms and glared at her, waiting for the question he was certain was coming next. 

"I'm starved," Ron cut in, jumping to his feet. "Let's eat." He nodded toward the kitchen and gave Harry a meaningful look as if to say, _I'm on your side, mate._

"Yeah," Harry said, grasping at the straw Ron offered. "Let's do that." He stood up and was about to push past Hermione when she grabbed his arm and squeezed until her fingernails dug into his skin. 

"Harry," she said quietly, "why aren't you with Ginny tonight?"

Ron, who had been hurrying toward the kitchen, stopped short and turned around. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's actually a pretty good question. She hasn't been around all week, now I come to think of it." 

Harry looked at his feet, his cheeks growing hot. "We, uh... we --" 

"You broke up, didn't you," Hermione said, relaxing her grip, and Harry nodded. 

"Oi!" Ron's brows came together in an angry line. "Did you dump her again, you great prat? What happened this time?"

"I didn't dump her," Harry said hotly, jamming his fists into the pockets of his jeans. "She --" 

"Oh," Hermione gasped, releasing his arm. 

"Oh," Ron echoed, sounding contrite. "Well, erm, you know how women are..." His voice trailed off as Hermione shot him a look that said _if you know what's good for you, you will never finish that sentence_ more clearly than words possibly could. He cleared his throat. "So, erm, what happened, then?" 

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking from one to the other of them. He'd been dreading this moment. He'd known it would come and had been trying to figure out what to say for close to a week, but hadn't been able to think of a thing. 

_Well see, Ron, your darling little sis has been wanting to shag my brains out, but somewhere along the line I have apparently become The Boy Who Can't Get It Up._

_D'you think you can help me, Hermione? I seem to be a few parts shy of an erector set._

_Maybe you'll get the idea if I put a big sign on my bedroom door reading "Welcome to Flaccid City. Population: 1"_

Harry's cheeks felt hot enough to light the candles. He ran one hand through his hair and shifted his weight from foot to foot until it occurred to him how stupid he must look. They were both looking at him expectantly, and Hermione's expression was beginning to morph into an ominous look of concern mixed with anger. "It's nothing," he mumbled, plopping back down onto the sofa and picking up his book. "I don't want to talk about it."

***

Dinner was a quiet affair that evening. Harry spent most of it with his head propped up in one hand, poking half-heartedly at the least blackened bits of what he thought might be chicken, though it was hard to tell exactly what you were eating the nights Ron cooked. Ron and Hermione made stilted conversation, but out of the corner of his eye Harry could see them exchanging curious looks across the table. He knew they were dying to discuss their theories about what was going on with him and Ginny, and after about half an hour he decided to give them their chance. With a weak smile and a quiet "Goodnight" for Hermione, he pushed his chair under the table and headed for the small bedroom he and Ron shared.

Ron's Deluminator was on top of his cluttered bureau, and Harry used it to douse the lights before flopping down on his bed. The room was so dark he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. He slid his hands under his head and sighed. 

_What's_ wrong _with me?_ he wondered for the millionth time. Before the Battle of Hogwarts, he'd never had any problems like this with his... equipment. Hell, before the Battle of Hogwarts the only trouble he'd ever had with the damn thing was keeping it from jumping up to say hello fifteen times a day. Everything had made it hard in those days: Cho, Parvati, Lavender, the portrait of the comely, bare-breasted water bearer on the fourth floor of Hogwarts, the statue of Morgana on the castle grounds, even Professor Sprout on one especially embarrassing occasion. And Ginny... well, after he'd realized how he felt about her, he'd spent two entire afternoons in the library looking up a charm to keep the front of his robes from broadcasting his feelings every time he saw her. That last birthday before he, Ron, and Hermione had left on their Horcrux hunt, when Ginny had hauled him into her bedroom and kissed him, he'd nearly passed out from the sudden loss of blood to his brain. It had been easy back in those days. Effortless. 

But now...

Harry's train of thought was derailed as the bedroom door swung open, and he shielded his eyes as the light from the hallway flooded them. "Hey, shut the door, won't you?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Ron's voice flowed from the massive shadow hulking in the doorway, and a moment later the room was blessedly dark again. 

"Thanks," Harry said. "Hermione go home, then?"

"Yeah." Harry heard the thump of Ron's belt buckle hit the floor, and then the wall as Ron kicked his faded jeans across the room. Another thump told him Ron had also removed his t-shirt and rolled it up into a ball before throwing it in the general direction of his jeans. He knew they'd probably sit in the corner until the next time Mr and Mrs Weasley came to visit. 

"She uh... she wants you to talk to me, right?" Harry said, smiling to himself as Ron stumbled over something in the dark and cursed. 

"Well, yeah. But I told her you probably wouldn't want to. Right?" Ron's voice sounded almost hopeful. 

"Right." 

"Okay." The bedsprings groaned as Ron lowered himself onto his mattress. 

Harry put his glasses on the nightstand and rolled over on his side, staring out into the darkness. For a long while, the room was silent. Then: "Ron? You asleep?" 

"Yes." He sounded as though he were halfway there. 

Harry sniggered. "Can I ask you a question?" 

"Mmm." 

"Did you and Hermione ever...do it?" 

There was a pause. "In what sense?" Ron's voice was alert now, cautious. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "In a fucking sense," he said. 

"Oh. Well. No, not really. Not as such. No." 

Harry lifted his head and looked in Ron's direction. The room was too dark to make out his friend's expression. "No? Really? How come?" 

Ron gave an embarrased sort of cough. "Well, it's not like I haven't _tried_ , or anything," he said, a defensive edge in his tone. "She just...wants to wait 'til we get...you know. Married. _If_ we get married, that is." 

"And if you don't?" 

"Well, I dunno. That never really occurred to me." 

Harry slowly lowered his head back down to the pillow, an odd, fluttery feeling in his chest. He'd never really appreciated how attached Ron and Hermione were. He'd known for years they were attracted to each other, probably longer than they'd realized it themselves, but it had never occurred to him they might already be thinking about marriage. The thought of it made him feel strangely hollow. 

"Why are you asking me this, anyway?" Ron said. 

"No reason," Harry replied, more quickly than he'd meant to. He buried his face in the pillow. 

"Does this have something to do with you and Ginny?" Ron said, a suspicious note creeping into his voice. 

Harry pressed his face deeper into the pillow and gripped the case between his front teeth.

"Harry?" Ron said, his bedclothes swishing, and Harry knew Ron was sitting up in bed now, probably getting ready to march across the room. 

"Well," Harry said. 

"Well, what?" 

"Well...yes." 

"I _knew_ it." There was a thump and an oath from the direction of Ron's bed, and Harry guessed he had sat back in a huff and bumped his head against the wall. "Trying to do it with my baby sister. No wonder she broke up with you!" 

"That's not why," Harry snapped.

"Right." Ron's voice dripped sarcasm. 

"I'm serious, Ron. She wanted to, and I..." 

"Didn't?" 

"Did!" 

There was a pause. "Wouldn't?" 

"Would." 

There was a longer pause. "Couldn't?" 

Harry's cheeks flooded with heat, and he was glad the room was dark. "Can't." 

"Ah. Right." Ron cleared his throat. "Sorry about that, mate." 

"Yeah." 

"I've, uh...I've heard it happens to every bloke. Once in a while." 

"It ever happen to you?" Harry said, a small bubble of hope rising in his chest. 

"Well. No." 

"Oh." _Damn._

"Happened to my dad once, though." Ron's voice moved as he spoke, and Harry knew he was sitting up in his bed again. "He told Bill and Charlie about it once, and they told Fred and George and me. Anyway, it seems like once Ginny was born, Mum told Dad now they finally had a daughter he wasn't to come near her again until he... you know... erm... got his basilisk de-fanged, as Fred used to say." Harry grinned into his pillow. "So he trotted off to St Mungo's to have the charm cast, and something went wrong. He and Mum couldn't..." 

"Got it," said Harry quickly. He didn't want to think of Mr and Mrs Weasley that way any more than Ron did. 

"Well anyway, it was a while," Ron said. "'Course, I don't remember it, but Bill told us Mum was practically impossible to live with for about six months after Ginny was born. Guess she really missed --"

" _Got_ it," Harry said again, louder this time, and he and Ron both laughed. "So how did he finally fix it?"

Ron's blankets rustled as pulled them up over himself. "He took some kind of potion, I think. Or no, it was some kind of magical plant or something. I don't remember. But whatever it was worked like a charm, because Mum --" 

"A plant?" Harry cut in. "Really?" 

"I think. Hey, why don't you go see Neville? I hear he's not doing so well in that shop of his. He could probably use the business." 

"Are you mental? I don't want anyone else to know about this." 

"Go on, Harry. It's worth a try. Neville won't tell anyone." 

"No!" Harry yanked his own blanket up over his shoulders and flopped over in bed. 

"Harry --" 

"God, I'm sorry I ever brought it up. Go to sleep, Ron." Harry punched his pillow and smacked his head into the middle of it. "Goodnight."

***

Ron spent the rest of the weekend at Hermione's, much to Harry's relief. The morning after their talk, he had feigned sleep while Ron stumbled around their bedroom, pulling on some clothes and stuffing a few necessities in his pockets, and didn't dare open his eyes until he heard the _whoosh_ of the floo. Even then he didn't get out of bed for another hour, but lay there alternately wishing he'd kept his mouth shut and hoping Hermione would distract Ron enough that he'd forget all about their talk the night before.

This hope was cruelly dashed the following evening, however, when twin thumps sounded on the hearth rug and Hermione tumbled out of the fireplace right behind Ron. "Hi, Harry," she called brightly, brushing some soot from her arm. "Listen, Ron's told me all about your problem, and I --"

"Ron!" Harry threw a furious glare in Ron's direction. 

"Sorry, mate," Ron said sheepishly, shaking his head so a shower of soot fell out of his hair. "I didn't want to... she wormed it out of me." 

"Yeah, right." 

"Now, Harry," Hermione said in her best Professor McGonagall voice, "there are no secrets between us, right?" 

"Not any more," Harry fumed. 

"Right. Well, I've been doing some research --" 

"Hermione, no offense, but I don't want to talk about this right --" 

"-- and I think I may have found an answer for you." 

Harry closed his mouth with a snap and swallowed hard. "Oh," he said in a hoarse voice, then cleared his throat. Crossing his arms and leaning against the wall in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, he said "Oh?" again and waited for her to go on. 

Hermione smiled. "Yes. Now. From what I've read, there are a few ways you can approach this. First, you could try going to your regular Muggle doctor --" 

"I don't have one." 

"Well, it's easy enough to find one. My dad told me --" 

"You told your dad about this?" Harry said, his voice rising an octave. 

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not," she said, sounding exasperated. "He mentioned it in passing a few months ago. Anyway, he told me the Muggles have this new pill that's supposed to help with this kind of problem." 

"A pill?" Harry curled his upper lip in reluctant disgust. "I've never done well with pills." 

"Okay, well, there're also injections --"

"There you go, Harry!" Ron said, grinning broadly. "That sounds perfect. A simple shot in the arm, and you're all set!" 

"Well, no," Hermione said, her cheeks pinkening. "Not in the arm." 

Ron's grin faded just a touch. "Oh. The arse, then?" 

Hermione's cheeks glowed. "No." 

Harry frowned. "Then where?" he asked warily. 

"In your --" Hermione gestured toward Harry's crotch and looked away, apparently unable to continue. 

"In my --" Harry said, raising his knee by way of protection without even realizing he was doing so. 

"In his --" Ron squeaked, the color draining from his face. "Hermione, are you _mental_?" 

"From what I've read, it can be very effective." 

"No way," Harry barked. 

"All right, all right," Hermione said defensively, "it was just a suggestion." 

"Well, suggest something else," Harry said, and Ron nodded his agreement, his face still chalk white. 

"Okay. I also read about this kind of... pump thingy. Although I must say, the pictures I saw looked like it might be pretty painful." 

"More painful than injections?" Harry said, sneering. "Pass." 

"Psychotherapy?" Hermione said, looking hopeful. 

"That could take years!" Harry replied. "I don't want to be twenty-five before I can finally --" He made a complicated gesture with both hands to signify what he meant. "That's practically an old man. And besides, I don't think the problem is psychological, anyway." 

"What do you think the problem is, then?" Hermione said. 

Harry paused for a moment before answering. "I think...I think someone, a Death Eater, hit me with some kind of weird curse during the Battle of Hogwarts. I was fine before that, and I mean _right_ before that, if you know what I mean. But ever since then..." 

"But Harry, that means it _could_ be psychological. A traumatic stress like that can --" 

Harry waved away the rest of Hermione's sentence. "I'm telling you, that's not it. It's something magical, I know it is." 

Hermione sighed. "Okay, if you say so. If that's what you really believe, you're going to have to seek a magical cure." 

"That plant I was telling you about," Ron said. "It worked for my dad." 

"Why don't you go see Neville?" Hermione said softly. "You know he'll be very discreet. He's your friend, he'd want to help you if he can." 

Over her shoulder, Harry could see Ron nodding his encouragement, and he looked at each of them in turn, suspicion dawning. "You two worked this out together, didn't you. You wanted me to go to Neville all along." 

"We want to help you, too," Hermione replied. 

"I swear I didn't know she was going to bring up those injections, though," Ron added with a shiver.

***

The heavy scent of dragon dung hit Harry full in the face as soon as he opened the door to Neville's shop, and for a moment he felt just like a second-year again. He wrinkled his nose and looked around. The shop was jammed with plants of all shapes and sizes and colors, some familiar from his days at Hogwarts, others exotic and foreign, but everything appeared to be vibrantly healthy and thriving.

A man was squatting at the base of the largest Flutterby bush Harry had ever seen, a pair of clippers in his gloved hand. He turned and straightened at the sound of the bells over the front door. "Hi, can I help y-- Harry!" Neville's face split in a wide grin, and he dropped the clippers on a table nearby. "How are you?" he said, pulling the glove off his right hand and extending it to Harry. "Great to see you!" 

"Hi, Neville," Harry said, smiling himself he shook Neville's hand. "It's good to see you, too. How's everything going?" 

"Good, good." Neville clapped Harry on the bicep with his other hand and then brushed hurriedly at the finger-shaped streaks of dirt he left behind on Harry's sleeve. "Oh, sorry about that," he said, as the moist soil still clinging to his glove left even larger streaks behind, grinding them into the fabric. 

"No problem," Harry said, stepping back out of Neville's reach. He brushed tentatively at the streaks himself before giving it up as a bad job. A cleansing charm would take care of it later. He hoped. 

"Sorry," Neville said again, pulling the other glove off and dropping the pair of them on the table next to the clippers. "So, how have you been?" 

"Good, not bad at all. How's business?" 

"Oh. All right, I suppose. Okay. Well. Not great, actually. In fact, not good at all." 

"Really? I'm surprised," Harry said. "You've got some beautiful plants here." 

"Yeah, thanks." Neville smiled proudly. "The stuff's all top notch, that's for sure. Best potions ingredients in London. I don't really know why I haven't been able to make a go of it. I guess I'm just not a very good businessman." He shrugged. "So. What can I do for you?" 

"Erm." Harry wasn't sure where to start. He'd been trying to think of a way to bring the subject up with Neville for two days. "I... erm. I need some help." 

"Okay." Neville's expression was encouraging, but it only made Harry feel even more uncomfortable. 

"I've got a problem." Harry could feel his cheeks getting warm, and the sensation made him feel even worse. 

"What kind of problem?" Neville prompted after Harry spent several long seconds without speaking. 

"Erm. I've got a problem... down there." 

Neville's brow wrinkled. "Down where?" 

Harry wished there was some Devil's Snare handy nearby to put him out of his misery. He cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one could overhear him, even though he knew he and Neville were alone in the shop. "Below the waist," he said in a hoarse whisper. 

"Oh. Um, okay." Color flooded Neville's face until it matched Harry's. "Is it... what is it?" 

"I can't... you know." 

"Not at all?" 

Harry shook his head. 

"How long?" 

"About six months." 

"Wow." Neville's face twisted in concern. "Harry, you should see a Healer about that." 

"Neville, please. I can barely talk to my friends about it, let alone a Healer. Isn't there something you can do for me? Ron told me his dad had the same problem once, and there was some kind of plant that helped him out." 

"Yeah, there is one thing you can try, but it's pretty powerful stuff." 

"Really?" Harry tried to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice and failed. "What is it?" 

Neville beckoned Harry forward and led him down the aisle to a planter filled with squat, leafy bushes with triangular leaves. "Newtroot," he said, grasping one of the bushes near its base and tugging it gently from the soil. He shook the plant so a few clods of dirt fell from its roots. "It's great for... um... problems like yours. Soak the root in a solution of hellebore and water for three days, then dry it, grind it into powder, and mix it with some pumpkin juice. That should fix you right up." 

"Great." Harry reached for the plant eagerly, but Neville batted his hand away. 

"I'll rinse it for you first. Do you have a mortar and pestle?" Neville called over his shoulder as he led Harry toward the giant stone sink in the back of the shop. 

"I'm not sure. I can probably dig up the one I used at Hogwarts." 

"I'll lend you one." 

"You're a saint. How long will it take to start working?" 

"Right away. You should see the effects within about thirty minutes." Neville broke off a large portion of the root and thrust it under a stream of water. "But Harry, listen. This is important. Make sure you drink some water every hour or so while you're using it, okay? Otherwise you could get severly dehydrated." 

Harry blinked. "Every...hour? Wow." Harry looked at the root in Neville's hand with new appreciation. "How long does this stuff last?" 

"Oh, this'll keep you going all night." 

Harry whistled. "You weren't kidding, that _is_ powerful stuff." 

"Yep." Neville shut off the water and shook the clinging drops from the root. "I'll just wrap this up for you and get the mortar and pestle." 

"Great, thanks, Neville." Harry's grin was equal parts relief and gratitude. "How much do I owe you?" 

"Oh, no charge." Neville was off again down the aisle toward the front of the shop.

"What? Why not?" 

"I never charge my friends," Neville said, a note of rebuke in his voice, and it struck Harry then just why Neville's business was failing. He slipped a few Galleons on to the table next to Neville's gloves when Neville's back was turned, and accepted his package with a grateful smile.

***

Harry set the newtroot to soaking as soon as he got back to the flat, and decided on a plan of action while watching streams of tiny bubbles swirl around the glass. Thirty minutes should be more than enough time for him to get cleaned up and head for the Burrow to surprise Ginny after drinking the elixir. It would be a Friday night and Mr and Mrs Weasley would be out, so they'd have plenty of time to themselves. He sent her an owl saying he'd be there around seven with a big surprise, and spent the next three days battling the butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach.

Seventy-two hours later to the minute, Harry hauled the softened root from the glass in which he'd soaked it, dried with a spell, and ground it until his wrist hurt from the effort. The resulting powder shimmered like silver dust, and Harry tipped it into a glass of pumpkin juice with his heart in his mouth. He downed the mixture in one go and hurried into the bathroom to shower and shave before his date. 

Humming nervously, Harry ran a comb through his hair and hurried into the bedroom to get dressed. The butterflies in his stomach had turned to thestrals while he was showering, and as he fished the cleanest pair of jeans out of the heap of clothing at the foot of his bed, it occurred to him just how much was riding on Neville's miracle plant. If something didn't happen tonight, if for some reason it didn't work... 

He didn't want to think about it. 

A sudden cramp in his belly doubled Harry up just as he was thrusting his leg into his jeans. With a gasp, he pitched forward on to his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest, arms clutched around his abdomen. _What the --_ His stomach pitched and roiled, flipping over like an acrobat, and a hand tightened around it and began to squeeze. The squeezing shot lower, tighter, like fingers rippling down into his gut, and with horrified awareness dawning Harry somehow found the strength to leap from the bed and bolt into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

***

An owl was pecking at the kitchen window when Ron and Hermione returned to the flat. "Who's that from, so late?" Ron said in surprise, as Hermione opened the window so the bird could hop inside.

Hermione untied the note from the owl's leg and unrolled it. "It's from Ginny," she said, her brows coming together in an expression of concern. 

"What?" Ron stepped up behind her and peered at the parchment over Hermione's shoulder. "I thought she and Harry were getting back together tonight. Why's she writing him?" 

" _Waited all night for you... can't believe you didn't show up... I don't understand why you would do this to me..._ ," Hermione murmured, scanning the note quickly, then crumpling it and turning to look at Ron. "Something's happened," she said. 

Ron's expression was hard. "I'll say something's happened. The git stood my sister up." 

"Ron, no." Hermione curled her fingers around Ron's forearm. "He wouldn't do it on purpose. Something's _happened._ " She pushed past Ron roughly, unraveling her scarf as she moved through the kitchen. "Harry? Harry! You here?" 

"Yeah," came a faint voice, and Hermione and Ron dashed down the hallway toward it, pushing each other out of the way. 

They arrived at the bedroom door together. Ron barreled through the doorway and snatched up his Deluminator. "All right, you prick," he snarled, giving it a savage click, "why did you --" 

He stopped short as the flying ball of light revealed the empty room. They exchanged nervous looks.

"Harry?" Hermione called again, her voice shaking. 

"In here." 

Hermione whirled toward the voice and saw a thin bar of light spilling out from under the bathroom door. She tiptoed toward it, holding her breath for some reason she didn't understand, and pressed her ear to the door. "Harry?" 

"Yeah." 

"You okay?" 

There was a long silence. "Not really." 

Ron's snort was warm against her ear. "There's a note for you out here from Ginny," he said. "Says you stood her up." 

Harry didn't reply. 

"Have you been in there all night?" Hermione asked softly. 

"Yeah." 

"Oh, dear." She stepped back from the door as though it had poked her in the eye. "What happened? Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?" 

"No. It was that stupid plant of Neville's. I think I must be allergic to it or something." 

"Oh, but magical allergies can be really serious! We should get you to St Mungos." 

"I'm not going anywhere at the moment, Hermione." 

"Oh. Yes. Of course." Hermione's cheeks began to pinken. "Well. Perhaps I can look it up, at least. Get some information on what to do. Do you remember what the plant was called?" 

"Yeah. It's called newtroot." 

"Newtroot," Hermione said under her breath. "I've never heard of it." Then louder, she added, "I'll see what I can find. In the meantime do you... erm..." She swallowed hard. "Do you need... anything?" 

"Just some privacy," Harry replied, sounding grim. 

"Right. Okay. Come on, Ron." They moved off together down the hall. "Do you still have your copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_?" 

"Yeah, I suppose it's in there somewhere," Ron said, waving vaguely at a stack of books gathering dust in the corner behind the sofa. 

With a sigh, Hermione tossed her coat onto a chair and started sorting through them. "Aha!" she cried a few minutes later, pointing to a paragraph in the middle of a page. "Here we are. Newtroot. ' _A member of the lycophyllidae family of magical plants, this root is an extremely potent purgative. It --_ ' Oh." Hermione stopped reading aloud and bent her head closer to the page, her mouth falling open as she scanned the rest of the entry. 

"Yeah?" Ron said impatiently. "So? Is Harry going to be okay?" 

Hermione finished reading and slowly closed the book. "I think so. I don't know what happened, or what Neville was thinking, but newtroot is... not quite what Harry needed." 

"Out with it, Hermione." Ron was starting to look worried now. "What the hell did Harry take?" 

Hermione met Ron's eye and quickly raised one hand to hide a smile. "It's a laxative," she said. "A treatment for chronic constipation. And it's not funny!" she added, stifling a giggle as Ron gave a sudden whoop of laughter. "It's really very serious. Oh, poor Harry." She gave up all pretense as Ron collapsed onto the sofa beside her, roaring with laughter, and buried her face in his shoulder to yield to it herself.

***

Harry walked with his head down, hands jammed into his pockets against the cold. There were few people walking in Diagon Alley at this time of the night. The street was so quiet Harry could hear the soft _tink tink tink_ of snowflakes falling against the windows as he walked by. He looked up only once, as he passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The eye-popping display in the left-hand window was dark now, and Harry looked down again and walked on.

He had purposely waited until the shops were closed to arrive. He'd left the mortar and pestle Neville had lent him propped against the shop door and covered the package with a mound of snow. Neville would find it in the morning. Maybe. If not, Harry would replace it. It was better to take the chance than to face a bunch of questions he'd really rather not answer about his experience with the newtroot. It was bad enough explaining to his boss why he'd missed two days of work, not to mention putting up with Ron's smirks and Hermione's concerned frowns every time he went to the loo. He'd rather face another Hungarian Horntail than relate the story to Neville, as well. 

He poked his finger into the corner of his pocket and traced the outline of a few coins. A drink at The Leaky Cauldron sounded good about now. He trudged off in the direction of the pub, which had the only brightly-lit windows in the whole street. 

As he got nearer, his eyes fell on a dark spot in the middle of the street. It seemed unremarkable at first, the shadow of a cloud passing over the moon, perhaps, but as he approached it he realized parts of it were moving. The top and bottom of it swished back and forth, back and forth, and it occurred to Harry that it was a person struggling in the snow. He drew his wand and rushed forward, shouting, " _Lumos!_ " His wand tip lit and a narrow beam of light washed over the figure in the snow, which froze at his rapid approach. "Are you all right?" he said, his heart pounding as he stopped short and peered down into the figure's face. 

"Hullo, Harry," the figure said, sitting up. 

"Luna!" Harry nearly dropped his wand. "What are you doing here?" 

"Making snow angels," she replied calmly, gesturing at the outline she'd carved in the snow. "Daddy says it's good luck to make one in front of your home in the first snow of the season." 

"Yeah?" Harry grinned. Luna certainly hadn't changed. 

"Oh, yes. It's supposed to ensure happiness until spring comes."

"Sounds good. Why are you doing it here, then?"

"I live here now," Luna said. "I started working at the Magical Menagerie last week. I just moved in up there." She pointed to a row of flats above the shops. 

"That's great, congratulations." 

Luna smiled and got to her feet. Her hair was heavy with snow. "Would you like to see it?"

"Erm...sure. I guess." 

"It's not very big," she said, beckoning for him to follow her. "Just one room, really. And I don't have much furniture yet." They circled around behind a row of shops and she led him up a rickety flight of stairs. "But it's home." She threw open the door at the top of the steps and stepped back to let Harry precede her inside. 

The room he entered was small, not much bigger than the bedroom he'd had at the Dursleys'. Most of the space was taken up by a large sofa, which seemed to double as both bookshelf and bureau from the piles of books and clothes heaped upon it. A small table sat in one corner with a stubby candle burning in the middle of it, but there was no chair that Harry could see. A few boxes sat open just behind the door, their contents spilling out onto the floor. 

"It's... nice," Harry managed. A pang of sadness shot through his chest. It was the kind of place Ron would have been forced to live in if Harry hadn't offered to be his flatmate. 

"It's a bit of a mess at the moment," Luna said, shutting the door behind them. She brushed past him, and for the first time Harry noticed the amount of snow caked on the back of her jumper. "Have a seat." 

"I was just about to go get a drink at the Leaky Cauldron," he said, his voice falsely bright. "Would you like to come?" 

"Oh, but I've got some wine here," Luna replied. "Just let me get in to some dry clothes." 

Without warning, she grabbed the hem of her jumper and started to pull it off over her head. Harry turned away as soon as he realized what she was doing, but not so quickly that he didn't get a glimpse of skin. He felt his cheeks flood with heat. "Erm... Luna," he said uncomfortably, but then stopped. It wasn't like she had another room to get changed in or anything. 

"That's better," she said at length, and when Harry turned around she was digging through one of the boxes. When she straightened, she had a bottle of wine in her hand. She smiled and nodded toward the sofa for him to sit down. As she moved past him, Harry noticed the outline of her breasts was plain beneath the T-shirt she'd pulled on, her nipples hard and jutting. He swallowed. 

"Listen, Luna -- " he started, but she cut him off. 

"Can you open this?" she said, placing the bottle on the table, "and I'll see if I can find a couple of glasses." 

Harry struggled for a few minutes with the Muggle corkscrew Luna had given him, and finally managed to wiggle the cork free mostly intact. Luna produced a set of battered coffee cups, and Harry settled himself uneasily on one end of the sofa. Luna pushed aside the pile of clothes and sat at the other end with her feet curled under her. "Mmmm," she hummed happily, taking a sip of her wine. "It's good, isn't it?" 

"Oh, yeah. Sure," Harry replied, holding the cup to his mouth and wetting his lips. He'd never cared much for wine, actually, but he didn't want to hurt Luna's feelings. 

"Daddy gave it to me as a housewarming gift. So. Harry. What's on your mind?" 

Harry looked up quickly, startled. "What? What do you mean?" 

"Something's bothering you," Luna said, her voice calm. "I can tell." 

"No, nothing's bothering me." Harry took a gulp of his wine. It went down too fast and he coughed, eyes watering. 

Luna studied him for a moment. "You're sure?" 

Harry nodded, blinking away the tears. "Positive. Everything's fine, just fine." 

"Well, that's good. How are Ron and Hermione?" 

"Fine, just fine." 

"Good. And Ginny?" 

"Fine," Harry said again, taking another swig of wine to brace himself against the lie. "Just fine." 

"She's over her scrofungulus, then?" 

Harry managed not to spit out his mouthful of wine at this, but it was a near thing. "Her what?" 

"I bumped into George a few days ago in front of his shop, and he told me she had come down with a mild case of scrofungulus." 

"Oh. Yeah. Right," Harry said, wondering just what scrofungulus was, and why Ron hadn't mentioned Ginny had it. 

Luna looked at him over the edge of her mug before taking another sip. "You and Ginny broke up again, didn't you." 

Harry swirled the contents of his mug and said nothing. 

"I'm sorry, Harry," Luna said softly. "What happened?" 

Harry sighed and leaned down to put his mug on the floor. "I don't -- " _want to talk about it_. The phrase he'd used so often before was on his lips, ready to shut down the discussion yet again, but something held him back from saying it. He was tired of keeping it to himself, or worse yet, trying to describe it to someone else and being completely misunderstood. Luna, he knew, would never laugh at him, no matter what he did or said. He took a deep breath. "I can't... I haven't been able to..." He wiggled his fingers at crotch level and hoped she would get the message. 

"Oh, it's a problem with your cock, then?" Luna asked, and Harry's head snapped up in surprise. No one had addressed the issue so bluntly before. "You can't get it up?" 

"Erm." Harry's face was blood-hot. He cut his eyes toward Luna's chest and noticed her nipples were still hard before looking away. 

"I know how to fix that." Luna unfolded her legs and rose. "Take off your shirt," she said, placing her mug on the table. 

"No, Luna, it's okay." Harry started to stand up, panic blossoming in his belly, but Luna pressed gently on his shoulder as she passed by behind him. 

"Go on, take it off, I've got just the thing for that," she reassured him. 

Harry sat back down on the very edge of the sofa cushion. "Luna --" 

"Hush," she said, digging through yet another box. "Relax, Harry. That's your whole problem, you know. You need to relax." 

When she turned around, she had a small bottle full of green liquid in her hand. Harry looked at it as though it were a lit dungbomb. "What is that?" 

Luna smiled serenely. "Something to help you relax. Take off your shirt." 

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't... It's uh, it's too cold in here for that," he invented wildly. 

"Oh, yes, I keep it cold on purpose. It helps keep the Wrackspurts at bay. All right, then, leave it on, but at least lie down on the sofa. On your stomach." 

On his stomach didn't sound so bad. At least then he wouldn't have to keep himself from staring at those hard little peaks poking at the front of Luna's shirt. With a sigh, he pushed the books off the edge of the sofa and settled himself face down, resting his cheek on his forearm. 

He watched apprehensively as Luna knelt on the floor beside the sofa and set the bottle by her knees. "Just relax," she said again in a soft, soothing tone, reaching toward him with both hands. Harry started as she touched his shoulder blades, and she backed off, smiling. "You're a wreck, Harry," she murmured, and he gave her a nervous smile as she smoothed her hands across his back again. "It's no wonder..."

Tingles chased themselves along Harry's spine as Luna stroked his back with her palms, first rubbing circles, then trailing from his shoulder blades to the small of his back and up again, gentling him as one might a skittish horse. It felt good, and Harry tried to ease into it, but at the same time it felt weird to know it was _Luna_ touching him that way. 

After a few minutes, the rubbing became squeezing as Luna worked her fingertips into his muscles. The first dig of her fingers made Harry jump and gasp with surprise; he didn't realize just how tensely coiled those muscles had been. Luna's laugh was gentle and breathy, and Harry gave her a wry smile as he settled his head down again and closed his eyes. She returned to her work, and soon Harry was wriggling with pleasure whenever she smoothed across a particularly tense spot. 

"You know," Luna said, "this would be a lot easier if you took off your shirt. My fingers keep slipping." 

_Why not?_ Harry thought. If it felt so good when she was having trouble, he could only imagine how much better it would feel when she wasn't. He reached over his shoulder, grabbed the neck of his shirt, and pulled it off over his head. Luna pulled his arms free and dropped it to the floor by her knees. 

"That's better," she said, and a moment later a weight settled on Harry's arse. Luna wedged her knee between his hip and the sofa cushions and started kneading his muscles in earnest before Harry could sputter out a protest. "Relax," she crooned. Harry caught a whiff of something that smelled like spiced oranges, and Luna's fingers grew slippery on his skin. 

"What is that?" he asked. The smell was soothing, calming, and Harry took a deep breath. It made him feel pleasantly weak. 

"Dardywood leaf extract," Luna replied. 

"Never heard of it." 

"Mmm. Not surprised." Luna's voice sounded even more dreamy than usual, and Harry guessed the smell of the dardy-whatever thingy was affecting her, too. 

The motion of Luna's hands grew slower as the minutes ticked by, slower, firmer, each squeeze long and deep as she worked her fingers into his muscles, working out the kinks until each muscle was so relaxed it felt as though they might slide clean off his back if he sat up. He slipped into a near-doze, lulled by the press of her hands and the scent of the potion, his breathing deep and even, his mind floating in peaceful oblivion. 

He didn't notice she had stopped until something tickled his nose. Jerking himself awkwardly out of his stupor, Harry tried to lift his head but found he could not. Something warm was pressed against the length of his back, pinning him to the sofa. Tendrils of something soft fell across his face. He breathed in deeply through his nose. The smell of oranges was everywhere. 

"Harry," someone whispered, and soft lips pressed against the back of his neck. "How do you feel?" He could feel the vibration of her lips against his skin, her warm, moist breath, and a gentle wave of pleasantly familiar pressure pooled in his groin. 

"Amazing," he said. His voice sounded very far away to his own ears. 

"Sit up." 

He wasn't sure how he found the strength, but moments later he was settling back against the sofa cushions. Luna straddled his waist, her bum planted firmly on his crotch, and bent her head to steal his breath with an open-mouthed kiss. At some point in the proceedings she had removed her shirt, and Harry fumbled to cup her breasts in both hands, to squeeze them gently and feel the hardness of her nipples between his fingers. 

They kissed for what felt like hours. Luna rocked against him, grinding herself down on him until he could feel the heat rising between her legs. It made his stomach tight with anticipation and want, but the feeling moved no lower. Luna didn't seem to care. She kissed him again and again, her tongue fluttering between his lips, and clasped his hands around her breasts, encouraging him to explore her, showing him how to touch her. And all the while, her hips never stopped their gentle push and pull against his pelvis.

It was maddening. Even in his altered state of mind, Harry realized this was wrong. He should be hard as a rock by now, dying for the relief of Luna's cunt wrapped around his cock. If he couldn't even get it up now... 

"Luna," he said in a strangled voice, pushing her away, "I can't --"

"Shhh." She stopped moving and put her finger against his swollen lips. She bent her head and nipped at his earlobe. "You're still not relaxed enough, that's all." 

Harry heaved a frustrated sigh as Luna slid off his lap. His head cleared a bit as the smell of oranges faded, and he sat with his eyes closed for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He wanted to go home, forget this ever happened. Forget he'd failed. Again. Forget all about the idea of ever having sex again. Perhaps he'd become a monk. Surely there were wizarding orders somewhere, maybe in the Himalayas... 

A tugging at his waist made his eyes snap open. Luna was working at the button on his jeans, then sliding the zip down. She pulled his jeans and pants down below his knees. His flaccid cock dropped between his legs, and Harry felt his cheeks burn. Fucking useless thing. 

But Luna smiled as she touched it. Her fingers were wet as she wrapped them around it, and the spicy smell of oranges filled Harry's nostrils again. He leaned his head back against the cushions, bracing his hands on either side of himself, and let Luna stroke him, working the potion into his skin. It tingled, painfully at first, the way his hand felt when it fell asleep, and he tried to pull back, hissing. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, carressing the head with her thumb, drawing the foreskin away from the crown and following it with a swipe of her tongue. Harry hissed again, but this time it was from a spark of wild pleasure that took him by surprise. 

"Do that again," he said urgently, and Luna smiled and bent her head to stretch her lips around his cockhead. Harry groaned and let his head fall back against the cushions. Luna's tongue felt like a brand as she worked it across and around the head, sucking on it as she went. "Oh... oh god," Harry moaned, raising his hips off the sofa and to push himself deeper into the heat. "Luna... Jesus _fuck_." 

Something dammed seemed to burst open at that moment, and to his amazement Harry felt his cock stirring for the first time in months. Both of his hands flew to the back of Luna's head, and he nearly doubled in at the waist as blood poured into his prick with dizzying speed. 

"Stop, stop," he panted. "It's too much." 

Luna released him and smiled. "There, you see? Problem solved." 

"I... yeah," Harry said breathlessly. His cock throbbed and it felt so _good_. He wrapped the fingers of one hand around it, almost unable to believe it had finally happened. "There's still one tiny problem, though," he said, reaching out with the other hand to grasp her around the wrist. "Come here." 

Her smile grew wider as she reached under her skirt with her free hand to tug her knickers down. Kicking them aside, she let Harry pull her back down into his lap. He held his cock steady while she settled on top of him, then pulled his hand away with a groan as she sank down his length. 

"I told you you just needed to relax," she said, rocking forward, and Harry palmed her breasts again and shifted his hips forward so he could thrust up into her as she came back down.

***

"What did you call that stuff again?"

"Dardywood leaf extract," Luna said, yawning. "It's really rare. Dardywood trees only grow in certain parts of central Sweden. To be really effective, the tree has to be fertilized with Crumple-Horned Snorkack dung and the leaves have to be gathered at the full moon." 

Harry blinked. "So... where did you get it?" 

"Daddy gave it to me ages ago. He said to use it if I ever got really nervous or upset about anything. My mum used to swear by it. Strange, though; this is the first time I've ever tried it. Works well, don't you think?" 

"Yeah." Harry smiled. "You could say that." 

"Do you want to take it with you?" 

"No, I don't think so. I don't think I'll need it any more. But thanks." 

Harry's legs were weak as he gathered up his clothing. They dressed in silence. Harry wondered briefly why he didn't feel at least a little bit guilty about sleeping with someone who wasn't Ginny, then remembered she had broken up with _him._

Luna seemed to sense his thoughts, for she said, "Don't worry, Harry. It won't happen again. And it's not like you two are together right now anyway." 

"Yeah. I guess you're right." Harry pulled his shirt back over his head and smoothed his unruly hair with one hand. "I guess... erm... I guess I'll see you around, yeah?" 

"Yes," Luna said. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and smiled. "You take care, okay?" 

Harry smiled back and opened the door. The snow had finally stopped. It looked like a good six inches of the stuff had fallen. It sparkled in the moonlight, and the air was blisteringly cold. Harry was shivering before he had reached the top of the stairs. 

"Oh, and Harry?" Luna called. Harry turned around halfway down the stairs. Luna was standing in her doorway with her arms wrapped around herself as a shield from the cold. "One more thing you should know. You'll probably want to stay near a bathroom for the next day or so. That dardywood leaf extract is also a really potent laxative."


End file.
